


Flight Shooting

by Narya_Flame



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Archery, Gen, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Modern Era, Post-Canon, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22440238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narya_Flame/pseuds/Narya_Flame
Summary: Luc is disappointed when he places second in an archery tournament - but the disappointment doesn't last for long.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 9





	Flight Shooting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spiced_Wine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiced_Wine/gifts).
  * Inspired by [~ A Throne of Shadows ~](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21721966) by [Spiced_Wine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiced_Wine/pseuds/Spiced_Wine). 



> Written for Spiced Wine, who prompted "Luc - Summer" on a meme on my DW journal.
> 
> Luc is my OC, who first appears in my fic _The Ways of Paradox._ Marcus, Spiced's OC, is from her fic _A Throne of Shadows_.

_**July 2013** _

  
  
It wasn't a real competition. There was no money or prestige in flight shooting – though with the traditional longbows and feathered arrows, it looked impressive for tourists. The archers were an amusing sideshow for the summer visitors as they wandered the sun-soaked fields, licking ice cream and gazing up at the turrets and crenellated walls of Carcassonne. Luc's coach had told him to treat it simply as practice.  
  
“You need to get used to shooting in front of crowds,” he said. “When you start at the university, you will have scouts and sponsors watching your matches. You can't afford to get stage fright.”  
  
“I won't,” Luc responded simply.  
  
And he hadn't. He'd shot well – but sideshow or not, it stung him to finish second. He wasn't used to it. Not these days.  
  
There hadn't been much between him and the victor – less than two metres, on average – but it was no use blaming the wind; the day was cloudless and breathless, the midsummer heat as thick and still as the hills. Luc exhaled and pushed his dreadlocks off his face as he climbed down from the podium. At least the archers hadn't been made to wear medieval costumes, unlike the stallholders and performers. He felt a moment's pity for the women in their unwieldy headdresses, and then a warm hand touched his shoulder and he turned in surprise.  
  
“Well fought.” The winning archer – a dark-haired young man with cream-pale skin and eyes like iced cobalt – spoke the precise, educated French of one raised in France but not born there.  
  
“Thank you.” Luc shook the outstretched hand. His palm prickled where it touched the other man's skin. “You too.”  
  
The stranger tilted his head as though assessing Luc in some way – and then he smiled, a warm, dazzling, beautiful thing. “I'm Marcus. Marcus Tierra.”  
  
That was certainly not a local name, nor did its two parts quite seem to belong together. “Luc Donadieu.”  
  
“Are you staying nearby?”  
  
“There's no need. I live in Toulouse.” Luc didn't add that his aunt and uncle had driven him out here for the tournament. “It isn't far.”  
  
“No, I know.” The blue eyes were amused. “Are you at the university?”  
  
“Not yet. I start at Jean Jaurès in September.”  
  
“Then that's why I've never seen you shoot.” Marcus's smile widened. “I'm about to go into my third year there. Ancient History.”  
  
Luc smiled too now. “History with English.”  
  
“Oh!” Something unreadable flickered across Marcus's handsome features. “I was born in England.” He seemed about to say more, and then stopped himself and gave a nonchalant half-shrug.  
  
Luc pushed his curiosity aside, and said with a touch of mischief, “I knew you weren't from the south of France.”  
  
Marcus laughed. “No – though I've been here for a long time.” Switching effortlessly into English, he added, “Well, perhaps we'll see each other in September.”  
  
His English had the same meticulous glassy polish as his French. Luc felt a curl of heat through his chest as he answered, “ _Oui, j'espère._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Spiced, I hope you don't mind me borrowing Marcus without asking first, but when you mentioned he went to university in Toulouse and was a capable archer, I couldn't help imagining his path crossing with Luc's. Please don't feel like you have to do anything with it or mention Luc in your fic, it was just a bunny I wanted to play with.
> 
> For the purposes of this piece, I've messed about with Luc's year of birth to make him a couple of years younger than Marcus. In Paradox 'verse he was born in October 1990, which is obviously not the case here.


End file.
